


stars in his eyes

by forestpenguin



Series: constellations [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cassian Andor-centric, Gen, Jedha, Minor Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, POV Cassian Andor, POV Chirrut Îmwe, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 12:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestpenguin/pseuds/forestpenguin
Summary: a long, long time ago, when cassian met baze and chirrut.





	stars in his eyes

 

Cassian bows his head, avoiding eye contact with the pair of stormtroopers who push their way through the crowd beside him. He ducks towards a fruit vendor, feigning interest in the bruised and battered delicacies, exorbitantly priced despite the marks that riddle their brightly coloured surfaces.

It was the price one had to pay under Imperial occupation. 

He’s tempted to shell out the few credits he has for the least offending member of the paltry selection of fruits on display. Cassian’s eyes flicker towards the wizened old man, more wrinkly and abused than the soppy star-apple he held in his hand, and sighs.

He wasn’t here to save individuals, no matter how fragile and pitiful they seemed.

With a curt nod, Cassian sets the fruit back on the table and turns away from the fruit vendor. He’d been on a mission to recruit some informers in a fringe resistance group here on Jedha. Even while ensnared in the death throes of teenagehood, Cassian had more experience with rogue rebel groups than almost anyone else in the Rebellion, which was an advantage Lieutenant General Draven sought to make the most of.

The contacts had been established - a young man and his sister, timid but willing - and now Cassian tries to make his way back to Kay and his waiting transport. But the crowds have a mind of their own, thick and swirling and  _always in the way._  Tension laces the air as pairs of stormtroopers watch over the banter between shopkeepers and customers, tapping the odd passerby for a doc check. The occasional victim is quietly cuffed and dragged away. But the marketplace still buzzes with activity, paying no heed to its decreasing numbers. 

Such is the way of life under Imperial occupation. You keep your head down and move on.

Cassian lets out a low hum of frustration. His scandocs are secure, a reassuring weight in his pocket, but he  _really_  wants to avoid a confrontation. Just in case. He wets his lips, teeth sinking into his lower lip. 

“Annoyed, are you? Patience, young one. Spend a moment with me and your path will be easier to see.”

Cassian turns to the source of the voice, startled. It’s one of the monks. A Guardian who no longer has a Temple to guard. 

“Did you hear that, Baze?” he chuckles. “It rhymed _and_  I made a sight joke.” 

Cassian’s eyes follow the Guardian’s titled face - whose sightless eyes are still eerily fixed in Cassian’s direction - towards a heavily armored, tired looking man. His appearance is not one of a monk, bulky plates of armor defining his well-built features, and his lips are turned down into a frown. When his gaze strays from Cassian towards the blind Guardian, however, his eyes twinkle with appreciation.

“That’s an awful joke, Chirrut.”

Chirrut waves his hand dismissively. “So are you just going to stare at us, or spend some credits to hear your future?” 

Cassian’s face twists with apprehension. A busker, then. It was the fate of many who once walked the halls of Jedha’s Holy Temple. He has no time for this.

And yet - Cassian turns away, towards the path that he should be on, the path that led to his ship. It’s currently blocked by two stormtroopers, idly talking as they scan the crowd for dissidents.

He has the time. He has the spare credits. Cassian takes a step forward, pulled along by some mystical force, and crouches before the monk, boots scraping up dust. 

Chirrut stretches out his right hand, palm facing outwards. His left hand just grazes his right elbow. Taking this as a sign for payment, Cassian pulls out his credit chips and empties them into his palm.

Chirrut smiles briefly, covering Cassian’s right hand with his left and clasping it between his hands with a squeeze. 

The bright smile falters ever so slightly. Cassian figures that anyone other than himself, and possibly the armored man watching over the proceedings, wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Your path is clear,” Chirrut announces to no one in particular.

Cassian turns, forehead wrinkling as the two troopers move away from their spot in the marketplace. 

“Not just that one,” Chirrut’s lips curve into a hollow smile. “Your heart is good, young hero. Your beliefs will carry you to victory.” He hesitates, and Cassian turns back to look at the monk.  

“Remember what your mother told you,” Chirrut finishes, releasing Cassian’s hand, fingers curling around the credits that stick to his palms. 

Cassian stands abruptly, mumbling a thank you and barely noticing the grim look on Baze’s face as he pushes his way back into the marketplace. 

 _Remember what your mother told you._ It’s a simple phrase that blankets multiple possibilities. An easy con job. The blind monk and his assistant, who probably informed him of the young man standing alone. It made perfect sense. Remind the lonely children of their mothers. Almost every person on Jedha had suffered some sort of loss, and it would be no surprise if the monk used this phrase on every other customer.

Cassian tries to shake off the incident as he walks, but her voice rises in his mind anyways. 

_Rebellions are built on hope._

She follows him all the way to his ship.

* * *

“He did not believe you,” Baze remarks gruffly.

“No one ever does, these days. The Force swirls darkly in the time of the Empire. There are no beacons of hope, no candles to shine in the darkness,” Chirrut says. He’s still facing the direction of where the boy disappeared into the crowd. Tall and steady, amidst a group full of worry and ignorance. “Not yet,” he adds. 

Baze presses his lips into a line. “You think he’ll be one.”

“I don’t think,” Chirrut says, and Baze bites back a well-placed insult. “I know. Did he not carry the light of stars in his eyes?”

Baze sighs. “If you meant he looked surprised when you mentioned his mother, yes.”

Chirrut shakes his head slowly. 

“We will meet him again. I sense it.” 


End file.
